The doctor waved his finger in the air. “By gum, I knew it! I knew something wasn’t right about those people!”
“Some men can see through the veil,” Mr. Jefferson said. His smile did not reach his eyes. “The United States thanks you for your efforts in helping to identify these dangerous people and appreciates your silence in the matter.”
“You can count on me, Mr. Jefferson—I’m a solid citizen. Happy to help in any way.”
Mr. Jefferson patted the man’s arm. “You already have, doctor.”
Mr. Adams fired up the brown sedan. “Anybody found Marlowe’s lab rat yet?”
“No. But we will. Madison is on it. Odds are good he’ll make his way back to his friends.”
“Why can’t we round ’em up?”
“In time, in time.”
“Where to?” Mr. Jefferson asked, pulling onto the road.
Mr. Jefferson twisted the piano wire around his gloved fingers. “Cape May, of course. And then I believe it’s high time we paid a visit to Sam Lloyd.”
A GOOD TIME
Herbie Allen, the creep, had followed Theta out of rehearsal and was droning on about a “peppy” new tune he’d written: “I don’t mean to brag, but folks who’ve heard it have said it’s the best doggone tune they’ve ever heard and that it’s going to make me a millionaire!”
“That a fact?” Theta said without interest.
“That’s what they say.” Herbie winked and put his hand on Theta’s back.
Roy came roaring out of nowhere. He grabbed Herbie by the lapels and shoved him hard against the brick wall. “Whaddaya think you’re doin’ with my gal?”
“Gee, I-I didn’t mean anything by it. No harm, old boy,” a terrified Herbie said, and even though he was a creep, Theta didn’t want this.
Roy sneered. “Call me old boy again and see what it gets ya.”
“Roy. Roy, please,” Theta begged.
Roy let go of Herbie, who scurried into the crowds on Forty-second Street without even a backward glance to see if Theta was all right.
“Roy. I work here,” Theta pleaded.
“Yeah,” Roy said, brushing down his sleeves and righting his jacket. “And I wanna know when I get to meet the big cheese, Ziegfeld. We made a deal.”
“And I’m working on it.”
“Now.”
“He’s not even here, Roy. That’s what I was tryin’ to tell ya. He’s got a show in New Haven. He’ll be back in a few days, and I promise I’ll get you in first thing,” Theta said, heart hammering.
Roy turned soft, his big brown eyes like a doe’s. “I miss ya, Betty Sue. Miss you like a goddamn ache in my guts.”
It was how he used to pull her back to him after a beating. He’d cry and say he was sorry and that he’d never do it again. Then he’d tell her how beautiful she was, how he couldn’t live without her, and Theta would give in. Worse, she’d think it was her fault somehow. A piece of that old wiring sparked inside Theta for a minute: Look how much he loves me. But she wasn’t that girl anymore. She’d had a life outside of Roy, her own life, with friends and the Follies—and Memphis. If it hadn’t been for Memphis and how good he was to her, she might think what Roy was giving her really was love. She knew better now.
“I’m gonna take you out like a queen. You like that, huh? I got money. Show you a good time. Steak. Dancing. The works! I want everybody to see us together. Want everybody to know you’re my girl.” There on the street in front of everyone, he kissed her. And she remembered that Roy didn’t love; he claimed.
Embarrassed, Theta pulled away. “Okay, Roy. Sure. Sounds good.”
“I’ll pick you up at eight,” Roy said, squaring his fedora on his head.
“Tonight?”
“Tonight,” Roy said.
That night, Roy picked Theta up for their date in a fancy new Studebaker.
“A loaner from Dutch,” Roy crowed. “This is just the beginning.”
He pinned a corsage to her dress and kissed her, and Theta nearly vomited.
“Where we going?” she asked.
“The Hotsy Totsy!”
Theta felt faint. “Oh. You sure you wanna go there?”
“Whaddaya mean? I hear it’s the place to be! Dutch has his eye on it. He wants a report from me.”
“Dutch wants to take over the Hotsy Totsy? But doesn’t Papa Charles run that club?” Theta said, worried.
“Not for long.” Roy gave her a sidelong glance. “Say, how do you know Papa Charles?”
“Oh. I just… I heard. He’s real popular up there. Gets written up in the papers.”
“You get up to Harlem a lot?”
“Here and there.”
“Here and there,” Roy sneered. He stared at her. “Why do I got the idea there’s something you ain’t on the level about, Theta? You wouldn’t lie to me, would ya? You know I don’t like lies.”
“I know, Roy. It’s swell you taking me out like this.” Theta forced herself to smile. She didn’t want to rile him up. But silently, she prayed: Please, please don’t let us run into Memphis.
When they arrived at the Hotsy Totsy, Theta was a mess. All it would take was one slip from the people she knew there, and Roy would know the truth about Memphis. She’d worn two pairs of gloves in case her hands got the idea to act up, but around Roy, she was usually too frightened to make even a spark. The waiter placed a new table right up front for them, close to the action, and for once, Theta wished she could fade into the background. When she saw Alma coming toward her, all smiles, Theta froze.
“Say, Theta! Don’t you look a picture,” Alma cooed. “Memphis is ’round back. I could—”
Theta cut her off. “Alma! I don’t believe you’ve met my husband. Roy Stoughton.”
“Your… husband?”
Theta nodded. She hoped Alma could read the warning in her eyes.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Stoughton,” Alma said coolly, extending her hand.
“Can you get us a drink, honey? We’re thirsty here,” Roy barked.
“I’ll send a waiter.” Alma shot Theta a withering glance, and Theta wished she could crawl under the table and never come back.
And then, in the wings, she saw Memphis. Just the sight of him, leaning against the wall, his notebook under his arm, made Theta’s heart beat faster. They were supposed to get married and move to Hollywood. Now they were worlds apart. Memphis hated her. And she had been blackmailed into being with Roy. It was like being stuck in a living nightmare that not even Henry and Ling could free her from.
“Seems like you been up here a lot. Enough to make friends,” Roy said.
“You know how it is. Show business. The dancers all know each other,” Theta said, hoping he’d buy the fib.
One of Dutch Schultz’s men took a seat at their table. He bent low and whispered in Roy’s ear. “Boss needs you to help with a problem. He thinks he knows who’s doing the healing for the competition. Fella who works for Papa Charles. His name is Memphis Campbell. He wants you to take care of him.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
Theta listened in terror. She had to keep Roy here. She had to warn Memphis. “I gotta powder my nose. ’Scuse me, gentlemen.”
On shaking legs, Theta pushed through the crowd. But when she got backstage, Memphis wasn’t there. She went back into the club. Their table was empty.
“No, no,” she said.